


time isn't after us

by doloploke



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Found Family, Eventual Romance, Leorio and Kurapika are dancing around a friends-with-benefits arrangement in the background, M/M, York New City baby, but it takes them a while to find each other, future setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doloploke/pseuds/doloploke
Summary: Killua does not make it to the 287th Hunter Exam. Or the one after it. Or the one after that. But some things are inevitable.“In my next life, I want to be me, and meet you again.”
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Leorio Paladiknight & Killua Zoldyck, Leorio Paladiknight & Kurapika & Gon Freecs
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	1. prologue

_Letting the days go by,_ _let the water hold me down_

 _Letting the days go by,_ _water flowing underground_

_Into the blue again, after the money's gone_

_Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground_

* * *

_September 20, 1999_

The forest is dark and dense, but Killua runs through it without a sound. The front of his shirt is crusty and brown where he has wiped his mother’s and brother’s blood from his hands. He can make it to the main road in half an hour, if he’s fast and careful. From there he can make it out of Dentora by midnight, out of the country by dawn, and then after that—whatever.

The trees stop abruptly. A smooth stone wall looms above him, blocking out the moon. Killua climbs it in seconds, leaving cracks and pockets in the stone where he digs in his fingers. He’s almost out.

Twenty minutes later, Killua drops down onto his stomach in the scrub brush by the side of highway and waits. He takes off his bloody shirt and wraps it around his forearms, to protect them from the scratching nettles. It is less suspicious this way, he thinks. The night is hot and humid. Boys his age walk around in their undershirts when it’s hot, right? Right. Killua hears the rumbling of the bus, sees its headlights flash as it rounds a distant corner. He pulls himself out of the scrub, leaving his shirt behind. He stands in the bus shelter, just outside the beam of the streetlight.

The bus creaks to a stop. The doors open and Killua steps on. “Good evening,” the driver says as Killua drops his fare into the coin slot. Killua grunts, ignores him, takes a seat near the front. The bus is nearly empty—just him, a man in a suit reading, and a woman in the back sleeping with a jacket pulled over her face. As they pull away from the stop, Killua leans his head against the window, enjoying the buzz of the vibrations in his skull. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Until it isn’t.

They go around a tight corner, pick up speed. The bus driver switches gears. Killua catches the movement in the overhead mirror—it’s strange and jerking. The driver’s arms are starting to curl and stiffen, the way people’s bodies do when they’ve been hit hard in the head or smothered. _Brain damaged_ , Killua thinks, and then some terrible pressure squeezes the air out of his chest. The tires screech, the bus accelerates, then jerks left, straight into the guard rail and over the edge of the cliff. 

Killua is thrown from his seat, and flies headlong across the aisle. In an instant he knows he will either break his arm or his neck. He chooses his arm, and posts it out in front of him. He hits the window and tumbles down, feels the crack and crunch in his forearm and elbow after it happens. He grabs onto something sturdy with his good hand as the bus continues to tumble and lurch around him. Somewhere just above him, glass breaks. He can feels shards of it stick in his scalp. He closes his eyes, buries his face in his shoulder, waits for everything to stop. 

Seconds later, it does. Killua opens his eyes. The man in the suit is screaming. The woman and the driver seem to already be dead. Killua tries to orient himself, to find the emergency exit hatch in the roof, only to realize he is lying on it.

“There you are, Kil,” says a voice right behind him. Killua feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Hi, Illu-ni,” he says, struggling to turn and sit up. Blood is starting to seep out of his hair and down his forehead. His brother is crouched down a foot from where he was lying, looking at him with mild interest.

“You did better than expected,” Illumi says. “Father thought Mil would give you more trouble. Drugging the bloodhounds was a good choice. Some of the butlers even had trouble tracking you. Still,” Illumi sighs and straightens up. “That’s enough of that. Time to go home.”

He grabs Killua’s broken arm and pulls him to his feet. It hurts—the break feels messy. Illumi leads him out of the wrecked bus with a hand on the back of his neck. Killua does not struggle.

There is a black car waiting to take them home. Ten feet away from it, Illumi stops. He turns Killua around, puts his hands on his shoulders. Illumi’s fingers are gentle as he wipes the blood from Killua’s face.

“Look at me, Kil,”

Killua does. His brother’s eyes are black and still and cold, like those underground cave pools, the ones that look like little puddles but go on and on and on, so deep and so dark that the things that live in them are pale and eyeless and mutated, treacherous enough to drown in.

“There’s nothing for you out here, you understand? So don’t try to leave us again.”

And Killua understands.


	2. Chapter 2

_October 6, 2006_

It’s 2 AM on a Saturday, so Leorio is at the diner. They’re starting to recognize him here. The waitress brings him his coffee as soon as he sits down in his usual spot by the window, and chirps “The usual, then?” She smiles when Leorio nods. “Coming right up, honey.”

It’s kind of nice to be recognized. Medical school has been…lonelier than Leorio was expecting. All of his classmates are younger than him. Most are from wealthy families, and have come straight from highly-ranked feeder schools. They want to become doctors for the prestige, or to make their parents proud, or because they don’t have anything else to do and biochemistry seems interesting enough. They don’t know anything about what the world is really like. Sometimes, watching them, Leorio feels angry, sometimes jealous. Lately he’s just been feeling alone.

When it gets really bad, he goes over to Kurapika’s place. Kurapika understands. He makes Leorio cups of tea and listens quietly while he complains, maybe slips in one or two well-chosen comments that make Leorio feel like he’s being too hard on his classmates. Sometimes they smoke hookah on the back stairs and watch the sun go down between the buildings. They talk about Gon, and regrets, and the things that keep them up at night, or they just sit in easy silence.

But sometimes, Leorio’s visits end badly: after barely half an hour, Kurapika clears away the cups and say that he has to get back to work right away. He ignores all of Leorio’s pointed questions about the bags under his eyes and his shaking hands. He insists that he is fine, throws all of Leorio’s concerns back at him until finally he leaves. Then for the next few days, Leorio’s calls go straight to voicemail.

It’s been happening a lot, lately. Too often.

So when Kurapika isn’t answering phone and the silence of his apartment becomes to much for him, Leorio comes here to this diner. He’s been coming here every Saturday night for almost a month now. He drinks coffee and eat omelettes and watches people come and go outside the club across the street, and sometimes, just for a moment, he forgets what the world is really like.

Leorio pours cream into his coffee and settles in. The window is dotted with fat droplets of water, leftovers from an evening thunderstorm. The club seems busy tonight. He can feel the bass from the blaring music in his elbows. A group of women pours out, all of them chatting and laughing and checking their phones. One of them lights a cigarette, then offers the pack to her friend. Leorio has thought many times about standing outside of the club with a cigarette, asking for lights and striking up conversations. Maybe seeing if some pretty stranger wants to take him home. But he knows he’ll never do it.

He hasn’t smoked since he was a teenager, anyway. People used to always make these stupid wide-eyed faces at him and exclaim,“But you want to be a doctor! Don’t you know how bad it is for you?” As if that personal hypocrisy was too much for them to bear. As if they didn’t have any contradictions in their own lives. Leorio got tired of having the same fight over and over, so he just quit.

The waitress comes back with his food—an omelette with peppers, onions, and cheddar cheese, with fries instead of toast. Leorio smiles and thanks her as she sets it down. He tries to keep his grunts to a minimum as he digs in. It feels so good to eat fresh, hot food for once, with vegetables in it and everything. This week he’s mostly been eating instant noodles and beer.

He’s starting on his fries when the boy with the white hair catches his eye. He’s young for tonight’s crowd—late teens, maybe early twenties—and slight. He’s leaning against the wall, like he’s waiting for someone, or maybe like he can’t stand up straight on his own. And he is possibly the worst-dressed person Leorio has ever seen in real life.

The kid looks like he’s taken fashion cues from a “bad boy” character from an after-school special about the dangers of underage drinking. He’s wearing a tight red mesh tank top, some sort of elbow guard things that look like they’re made out of black doilies, and about 6 different leather belts. He’s got this great big feather hanging from his right ear, and—is that?—yep, a Ring Pop on his finger. The kid’s pants are garishly striped, and so tight that they’re making Leorio uncomfortable.

Leorio watches as an older guy, early sixties at the youngest, comes out of the club, pulling on a sport coat. He lights a cigarette, and the glow of the lighter illuminates his face: thick eyebrows, pinched features, weak chin, grey hair that isn’t so much slicked as shellacked. The older guy notices the kid and stops to talk to him, getting in so close his body blocks Leorio’s view. Then he pulls the kid away from the wall and slides his hand around his waist. The kid sways unsteadily on his feet, and almost falls as the older man tries to lead him away from the club. The man holds him tighter. They cross the street, pass right by the window where Leorio is sitting. As they pass under a streetlight, Leorio gets a glimpse of the kid’s face. His cheeks and neck are blotchy red and gleaming with sweat. He is frowning slightly, like he’s confused, and his eyes keep drooping shut. The older man is practically carrying him at this point. He looks over his shoulder once, twice, then pulls the kid into an alley and out of sight.

Leorio feels like his stomach has dropped to his toes. He just saw something terrible, he’s almost sure of it. Sure, maybe the old man could be a good samaritan, helping a kid who’s had too much to drink get home, but… when he passed under the street light with the kid, Leorio saw the look on his face, hungry and smug. And Leorio might only be a med student, but he knows enough to know what a person looks like when they’ve been dosed.

Should he get up? Try and find them, try and intervene? What if—no. No, he has to do something. What use is being a Hunter, of learning all that stuff about aura and fighting and killing, if he doesn’t use it to help people? He has to do something, and he has to do it _right now_.

Leorio slams his briefcase down on the table and pops it open. He barely registers the tinkle of the bell above the diner’s door, or the waitress’s cheerful “Anywhere you like.” He rifles through his wallet, tries to find the correct bills, but can’t. “Fuck it,” Leorio growls, and he drops a 5000 jenny note on the table. He slides out of the booth, rushes to his feet and—stops.

“What the fuck?”

The white-haired kid is there, right in front of him, sucking on that stupid Ring Pop. He raises his eyebrows at Leorio, pulls the pop out of his mouth with a smack. “I saw you watching me, old man,” the kid says. He slides into the booth and starts flipping through Leorio’s menu.

Leorio sits down, too. He can’t think of anything else to do.

“You—what?” he sputters.

“I saw you watching me, old man,” the kid says again. He draws out each word, like he thinks Leorio’s stupid.

“Yeah, I got—but—hey, fuck you, I’m not an old man! I’m only a few years older than you! That guy you were with, _that’s_ an old man!” Leorio yells, and immediately feels bad about it. The kid stares at him for a second, then starts cracking up. His laughter is high-pitched and tittering, almost child-like, and it reminds Leorio of why he had been in such a rush moments earlier.

“Are you…all right?” Leorio asks as delicately as he can. “You seemed pretty, uh, out of it. Do you need me to call someone for you?”

“Eh? Oh. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” The kid flaps a hand and carries on looking through the menu. The bizarre thing is, he _does_ look a lot better now than he did a minute ago. His pale blue eyes are bright and clear, tracking back and forth as he reads the day’s specials, and his hands are steady. His face is pale and dry. Leorio has no idea what the hell is going on. Maybe he misread the situation? The kid looks up, his expression suddenly devilish. “Why do you ask, old man? Did you wanna come save me?”

Leorio glares at him. “Yeah, I was gonna go help you, is that such a stupid thing to do? You looked drugged out of your damn skull, and some creep who could be your grandfather was pawing at you—where did he go, anyway?”

The kid shrugs. “I dunno. Home, probably. I said I wasn’t gonna fuck him, so he left. Chocolate chip pancakes, please, with extra whipped cream. And a coffee.” That last bit is directed towards the waitress bobbing nearby.

“Hey! You didn’t ask if you could eat with me,” Leorio fumes. “I might be leaving now for all you know.”

The kid slurps on his Ring Pop again. It’s infuriating. “You’re not, though.”

“I’m not what?”

“Not leaving now.”

“And how in the hell would you know?”

The kid rolls his eyes, like it’s obvious. “I’ve seen you here before. You come in this time of night, basically every week, and you never leave before 5 AM. It’s barely 2:15.” Leorio gapes at him.“What? You’re not the only one who can watch people, y’know. Why do you come here so often, anyway?”

“I like it here,” Leorio huffs. “The food’s good, they’re generous with the refills, and _normally_ people leave me to my thoughts.”

“You’re lying. That’s not the real reason. I’ve been a liar for years, so I can tell. But okay, you’re just here cuz you like it here, sure.” The kid bites into his Ring Pop with a startling crack, and starts chewing up the shards. He looks suddenly like a cat, gnawing on a toy or a dead bird. “So, what made you think you could play white knight?”

 _What a terrible little shit._ Leorio grimaces. “I’m stronger than I look. I could have taken that guy, no problem.”

The kid smirks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Leorio shouts. “I’m not just some random jackass, you know! I’m”—he lowers his voice, suddenly aware of the line cook staring at him—“a professional Hunter.”

“Wait, really?” The kid’s eyes flash with interest. “That’s pretty cool, I guess. Can I see your license?”

“Hell no.”

The kid breaks out into laughter again. “Okay, I guess you’re not a total moron. Oh! Food! That was fast.” The waitress sets what looks like a heaping plate of whipped cream in front of the kid, who starts shoveling it into his mouth right away. It’s terrible and also kind of adorable. He gets whipped cream on his nose.

“Hungry, are you?”

The kid just grunts in reply. Leorio sighs and begins to eat his fries again. They’ve gotten a bit stiff. He guesses that he could just leave, find another all-night diner to spend the night in. But he’s already bought a meal here, and all the free refills and sitting time that that buys. Besides, maybe the kid is just lonely and needs someone to talk to. There’s no real harm in that.

(Somewhere deep in his gut, outside of the reach of conscious thought, Leorio knows that he could not make this kid leave him alone through force, not even if he throws every ounce of strength he has at him. It’s an animal certainty, like hunger or thirst or the instant of fear after a plunge into darkness. Leorio does not think to question it. He is barely aware that he’s feeling it.)

The kid wipes the whipped cream off his nose with the back of his hand, then licks it. It only makes him seem more like a cat. “Y’know, I’ve heard some pretty crazy stuff about the Hunter Exam. I’ve always wondered—what’s it really like?”

Leorio stops picking at his fries. For a moment he feels sick to his stomach. He knows the answer to that question immediately, but does not say it. _It’s hell. It’s absolute hell._

Leorio first tried to take the Hunter Exam at 19, after he found out just how much university tuition cost, and just how absurd it was to think he could make enough to afford it with summer and part time jobs. Taking the Hunter Exam was a moonshot, but he was 19, and still believed in moonshots.

He did get lucky, in a way. He met Gon and Kurapika on the boat to the exam, and felt pulled towards them. It was like magnetism, or gravity, or the pull of the moon on the tides—some deep and irrational force. He didn’t even _like_ Kurapika that much at first, although that changed quickly enough. And Gon and Kurapika were both so clever and strong, even though they were so young, and strange in ways that seemed to make them fit into the monstrous world of Hunters and the exam.

Everything had started out okay. The run sucked, but in an expected way. Leorio had trained for physical stuff—gone for long, hard runs after work, lifted weights, learned to swim and how to hold a switchblade in a way that was good for actually stabbing instead of just looking intimidating. And he had Gon and Kurapika to talk to. Kurapika told him about his family, and Leorio felt such a sudden, sharp pain in his chest he thought for a moment he was having a heart attack. Gon told him about his dad, and his aunt, and growing up on an island with fox-bears and leviathans for playmates. Leorio wondered if he had ever had a real friend.

The swamp part was worse. Hisoka was terrible. He killed so many people so quickly it really did seem like a magic trick, like it wasn’t real. Leorio was knocked out soon after that. Gon and Kurapika must have looked out for him, made sure he survived to the next round.

Dealing with Menchi and Buhara was kind of fun, in a way. Watching all those menacing tough-guy types try to wrangle frying pans and spatulas was pretty funny. Jumping from a cliff and trusting a breeze was terrifying, but still sort of familiar. It was like bungee jumping or sky diving, extreme and dangerous but not insane.

Then they got to the tower. It took them a while to figure out the trick with the trap doors, so they ended up stuck with the stupid “Majority Rules” path, along with that jackass Tonpa and a man named Kyu with a nastily broken nose. Leorio hated both of them—Tonpa was aggravating and smug, and Kyu was condescending and sulky. They fought over every decision. Kurapika tried to play peace-maker, but was shouted down. Even Gon got annoyed after a nearly half-an-hour long argument on whether to go left or right.

They were all irritated and tired by the time they reached the room with the platform and the prisoners. Tonpa went first, and immediately surrendered. Leorio wanted to hit him—Kurapika’s weary admonishments stopped him, but just barely. Next came Gon, who did surprisingly well with a candle challenge. Then Kurapika went, and for the first time Leorio got a glimpse of the dark and raw thing that lurked inside him. It was terrifying and sad at the same time. Then Leorio had his turn. He threw away so many of their hours betting with that woman. He tried to cover his shame with bluster and excuses. It didn’t work.

Kyu went last. He was a great fighter, he assured them—a former epee champion, he had made a career as a sellsword for wealthy merchants. He would have no trouble with some common criminal. He agreed to a fight to the death immediately, before the walkways had even fully receded.

The prisoner, Johness, was on him before he even drew his sword. He broke both of Kyu’s legs in an instant, then pinned him down with a knee. Kyu shrieked in pain, so Johness took the opportunity to force his fingers into his mouth and rip out his tongue. Then he started on his face.

They shouted at the ceiling, begging the examiners to do _something,_ but nothing happened. Johness was not stopped. The walkways did not extend. No one came to help.

Leorio turned away soon after. He and Kurapika had to grab hold of Gon to keep him away from the platform’s edge, because he kept talking about how if he angled the cast just right he could use his fishing line to swing across and rescue Kyu and win the fight. Leorio didn’t know how to explain that it was hopeless, that even if Gon did make it across, Kyu would still die, and he, Gon, would be ripped apart. So he just held the boy close and didn’t let go. Kurapika leaned against him. He was shaking.

They tried to cover Gon’s eyes and ears. They knew without talking about it that there were some things no twelve year old should witness. But they couldn’t do much about the sounds—shrieks, at first, but soon just gurgles and sobs, and thick, meaty squelches and thuds. Every horrible noise echoed off the chamber’s stone walls. Tonpa retreated back into the hall way, his face pale. Leorio heard him retching.

It took a long time for Kyu to die. It was mostly silent, by the end. Then a thin, high voice echoed from over a loudspeaker somewhere: “Phase 3 failed.” A concrete wall shot down from the ceiling, trapping them all in the hallway.

For a moment, no one understood what had happened. Then Gon had launched himself at the wall, hammering it with his fists, trying desperately to get through. He couldn’t lose, he shouted. He wouldn’t give up, he would never give up! He would become a Hunter! He wouldn’t lose here!

Gon was sobbing; his hands were red and mangled. Leorio tried to calm him down, reminded him that he could always take the test next year. Gon didn’t seem to hear him. They struggled for what felt like hours, until Gon slumped to the floor in exhaustion. Leorio bandaged his hands and tried to get him to talk. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

Leorio didn’t know how long they sat in that hallway. They didn’t talk much. Eventually, another door seemed to appear out of nowhere, and a woman with a Hunter’s Association badge stepped out. She led them down a very long staircase and out into the sunlight, where they joined a group of other failed examinees. The outside world seemed over saturated after so much time surrounded by dark grey stones. The examiner told them that yes, they all had failed and no, there was nothing any of them could do about it, but they were all welcome to try again next year, and an airship would be arriving soon to take them all back to port. And that was that.

Gon and Kurapika took the exam the next year and passed easily—a year of almost ceaseless training paid off. But it took a few years until Leorio was brave enough—or desperate enough, depending on how you looked at it—to try again. By that time, the Hunter Association and the Exam had gone through so many overhauls and reforms that the test he passed was completely different from the one he had first taken.

Leorio does not say any of this to the kid in the diner. Instead, he says: “Couldn’t tell you, honestly. The exam changes basically every year. When I passed it a couple of years ago, there was a massive written portion, and a section where you had to demonstrate information-gathering abilities. The first time I took it, there was a cooking competition and an ultra-marathon. And my two friends told me that when they passed, the exam was basically a huge battle royale with no knowledge tests at all. Everything in the Association has been up in the air since the East Gorteau tragedy, to be honest.”

The kid is staring at him in complete fascination, his fork hanging from his mouth. Leorio continues. “Yeah, it’s been crazy. I mean, everyone knows about the major stuff—the massacre and the upheaval and everything. But things were in complete disarray in the Association. I wasn’t a member at the time, but my two friends were, and they told me about it. The Chairman died, as well as a bunch of his subordinates that had gone into East Gorteau with him. The whole international community was confronting the Association, trying to get details on what happened, but everyone who knew anything for sure had died during the operation. There was this huge vacuum, of power and of knowledge. A bunch of political types tried to use the chaos to push reforms or block other ones, but nothing much worked. A few people even got assassinated. Just a complete mess.”

Leorio sighs. “It’s calmed down a bit by now, though. Well, as calm as it gets.”

The kid finishes the last of his pancakes and starts pouring sugar into his coffee. “You keep mentioning your ‘two friends’. They’re Hunters too, right? What’re they like?”

Leorio grins. This is a topic that he’s actually happy to talk about. “Well, one of them is a Blacklist Hunter. He’s captured some pretty high-profile criminals. He…” Leorio hesitates. He’s never really said some of this stuff out loud before to anyone. Sometimes he doesn’t even let himself think it. But what the hell, right? He’s talking to a stranger at 3 in the morning, he might as well be honest. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. He’s got this amazing sense of justice and fairness and right and wrong, and he’ll always fight for what he thinks is right, no matter the cost to himself.” Leorio pauses, takes a sip of coffee to collect himself. “Gets him into trouble a bit sometimes, to be honest. He actually lives here, in York New. When he’s not out on a job he works at this little bookstore called Streetlight Books. I think he finds it calming.”

The kid nods. “Oh, so he’s in the mafia, then.”

“What?! No! He’s not in the mafia!” Leorio sputters.

“He definitely is. Everyone knows Streetlight Books is a mafia front. All the shops on that street are. Oh man, did you not know? Holy shit, it’s so obvious!” The kid laughs obnoxiously. Leorio finds his good will evaporating.

“Whatever, he’s not in the mafia. Whoever told you that shit was wrong.” Leorio says darkly. He glares into his coffee. He’s pretty sure he would know something like that, but…Kurapika is guarded at the best of times. Lately, he’s been like an impenetrable fortress.

The kid clears throat. He’s looking at his hands. “Uh, yeah, you’re probably right, I guess. I was mistaken. So, what about your other friend? What’s he like?”

It’s not exactly an apology, but Leorio appreciates it anyway. He warms to his subject again. “He’s younger than me—about your age, probably.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly your age, then. He wanted to be a Hunter his whole life, ever since he found out his dad was one. Oh, and he passed the exam when he was just thirteen, which is absolutely unheard of. That should tell you how strong he is. He’s a Lost Hunter—he finds people and things that are lost or went missing. He’s really good at it, too—best in his field. He’s recovered bodies from avalanches, tracked down a political operative who had been in hiding for thirty years, even found a wedding ring at the bottom of the ocean. He just doesn’t stop looking, no matter what. I don’t understand it, to be honest. Seems like that type of work would make a guy depressed. But he says there’s nothing else he would ever want to do. He travels most of the time, but he comes through York New a couple of times a year. We can normally convince him to stay a few days, sometimes even for a couple of weeks, but he always takes off again soon enough.”

The kid is staring intently into his coffee cup. His expression is strange—caught between excited and sad. “Hey, are you all right?” Leorio asks. The kid’s eyes snap up, and his face falls back into an easy aloofness.

“Fine. Just zoned out for a second. Your friends sound really cool.” To Leorio’s surprise, the kid sounds sincere.

“Yeah, they really are.”

They sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes, each staring out the window. Leorio watches a droplet of water burst and run down the window in a fat rivulet. He thinks about how Kurapika laughs when something catches him by surprise, light and clear, like bells. He remembers the last time Gon came through York New, how he ran down the pier and jumped into Leorio’s arms even though he was almost as tall as him, and far stronger. He tries to figure out if this is worth it, but that thought is thorny and black and he shies away from it almost immediately. Then he realizes something.

“Hey,” he says. The kid raises his eyebrows at him. “I just realized, you haven’t told me a thing about yourself yet.”

The kid shrugs. “Eh. My life’s not that interesting. I’m not a Hunter or anything.”

“Well, for a start, what’s your name?” Leorio asks.

“Killua,” the kid replies.

“I’m Leorio. So, do you live around here?”

“Nah,” the kid— _Killua—_ says. “I’m here for work. I’m part of the family business.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Human resource management.”

“Oh. Sounds boring.”

“It is. I have to go back home in a few days, I think. My job’s almost over. But I figured I’d try and enjoy myself as much as I can. Y’know, see the sights, meet people, that sort of stuff.” Killua sighs and stretches. His shoulders rumble and crack. “But c’mon, this sort of stuff is stupid to talk about. You’ve gotta have some awesome stories, right? What’s, like, the craziest thing you or your friends have ever had to do as Hunters?” He’s leaning forward again, grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

Leorio chuckles and settles into a story. “Hmm, that’s hard. We’ve all seem some pretty crazy shit. But okay, so last year I get a call from Gon saying he needs my help on a job. I say sure, no problem, where are you? And he tells me he’s in the middle of a god damn ocean, sitting on the back of the largest hump backed whale in the world. He wants to know if I think I can do an ultrasound on a whale. See, he had been hired by this crazy old woman who had gone on some fancy ocean cruise. Her luggage had fallen overboard, and she swore up and down that a 400-foot-long whale had scooped it into its mouth. So my buddy goes way out into the ocean, sits out there for days, and sure enough…”

The story of the whale flows easily into the story of how Gon was paid ten million jenny to find a Kakinese prince’s chihuahua, and then the story of the time Kurapika acted as a body double for the princess of Kukanyu to catch a serial arsonist. Killua hangs on to every word. Leorio hardly notices when the music from the club cuts off at 4 AM, or when the last of the drunken college kids stumble out of the diner. Only when the light outside changes from black to pearly grey does Leorio decide it’s time to go home.

He and Killua leave the diner together. This early in the morning the streets are silent except for the chirping of birds. The air is cool and heavy with dew. Everything seems slightly unreal.

“Well, see you later,” Killua says.

“Wait a second,” Leorio calls as Killua walks away. “Can I get your phone number or something? Where are you staying?”

“Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you around!” Killua calls back. He’s already halfway down the street. Before Leorio can think of a good reply, he’s turned the corner and disappeared.

 _All right then. Guess this was a friendship one-night stand._ Leorio tries to feel fine about this, and mostly succeeds. It was nice to have someone to talk to for a night, and he feels a bit better about things now. It’s okay to leave it there, he supposes.

Leorio turns and heads towards his apartment. Exhaustion is starting to creep up on him. He’ll probably sleep for a few hours when he gets home, try to get up around noon, maybe head to the library. He’s got a lot of studying to do, plus lab on Monday…

Leorio trudges up the stairs of his building and collapses onto his bed. He falls asleep with his shoes on, and doesn’t dream.

He wakes up six hours later to a pounding headache and a horrible taste in his mouth. He groans and pulls himself out of bed and into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and drinking a glass of water, Leorio is feeling a bit more like a human being and not like a sewer creature that crawled out of a gutter. He’s still staring down a pretty crappy Sunday, though.

There’s no milk in the refrigerator, so Leorio just eats cereal out of the box. He scrolls idly through his phone as he eats, checking his email and reading today’s news headlines. Most of them are the same, some variation on _Former East Gorteau Politician Found Dead in York New_ _City._ Leorio taps one of them, and reads:

_Reinheld Bizeff, former Secretary of State of the now-defunct Republic of East Gorteau, was found dead early this morning in the Northview neighborhood of York New City. Cause of death is still undetermined, but medical personnel who were called to the scene said that Secretary Bizeff seemed to have suffered a “massive cardiac event.”_

_“It seems like his heart just went haywire. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he’d been struck by lightning,” said one paramedic, who also stressed that more information would be available after an autopsy is performed._

_Secretary Bizeff was a controversial figure in international politics. He was infamous not only for engineering the draconian communication policies of the former Republic of East Gorteau, but also for being almost constantly mired in sex scandals. Following the collapse of East Gorteau, Bizeff fled and largely disappeared from the public eye. However, there were unconfirmed reports that Bizeff was acting as an advisor to several Kakinese princes._

_Despite Bizeff’s notoriety, authorities have stated that at this time they have no reason to suspect foul play._

At the bottom of the article is a picture of the dead man in question. He looks pretty much how Leorio expects a lecherous disgraced politician to look: pinched features, over-slicked grey hair, weak chin, simpering smile. Something about him is vaguely familiar, though. Leorio is sure that he’s seen this man somewhere before. He just can’t place where…

But it’s almost noon, and Leorio’s head still hurts, and his lab partner has sent him four passive-aggressive emails that he has to answer. He really has to get to the library. He probably just saw Bizeff’s picture once on the news. Leorio forces the lingering uneasiness out of his aching head.


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t like this, Leorio.”

“ _I told you already, it’ll be fine! You worry too much.”_

“I worry precisely the right amount. From what you’ve told me, he’s been watching and following you for weeks, and—“

“ _Hang on, I never said that! I told you, he’s a good kid—“_

“You told me that after the night you met him, you just kept, I quote, ‘running into him all over the place’! How can you not see that that’s incredibly suspicious? And why does he want to meet Gon so much?”

Kurapika’s ears fill with a crackle of static as Leorio exhales sharply.

“ _Look, Kurapika. It’s like I told you, he’s a bit weird, and I think he likes messing with people sometimes. But I think deep down he’s just a precocious, lonely kid who doesn’t know anyone his own age—sound familiar? So I told him I’d introduce him to Gon. I’ve gotta go now, but I promise you it’ll be fine.”_

“But what if—“

“ _I’ll see you at five.”_ The line goes dead.

Kurapika sighs heavily as he returns his phone to his pocket. This is going to be a disaster, he can just tell.

“Everything all right?” Melody calls. She’s arranging shiny hard-covers on the “New Releases” table at the front of the shop. Kurapika can only see the top of her head over the pile of books, but he already knows what her expression is—neutral and open, big-eyed, full of honest concern and empty of expectation. It’s a face that he’ll tell anything to.

And it seems like Melody’s listening face has power over him even when he can’t see it, because Kurapika finds himself saying, “It’s this stranger that Leorio has been hanging around with lately. I don’t trust him. He’s eager to meet Gon, so much so that it’s suspicious. Of course, Leorio doesn’t listen to my concerns at all. He’s too trusting by far.”

Melody hums. “You’re right that Leorio is very generous with his trust and his time, but he’s also a good judge of people, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. I don’t know.” Kurapika shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m being paranoid. Leorio has to know by now that there’s evil in the world. He has to be more on guard.” Melody doesn’t say anything. This is an argument they’ve had many times.

Mind still swirling with dark thoughts, Kurapika resumes balancing inventory against the day’s sales. This would normally be a mindless task, but Streetlight Books’ accounts required a bit of…creativity. Today, for example, several million jenny changed hands over the sale of exceedingly rare books. Books that all happened to weigh exactly 3 pounds, and that had to be stored in hard-sided cases. One such “rare book” is still strapped to the bottom of the counter at which Kurapika is working, for quick access in case the wrong type of customer comes to call.

Kurapika likes the fantasy of the little bookshop on the corner, for all that he knows it is a fantasy. He first learned to speak the outside world’s languages by poring over a grimy tome with Pairo all those years ago. Books still hold magic. Kurapika relishes the times when real customers come in—tourists, mostly, ignorant of this street’s reputation—to pick through the New Releases table or to run their fingers along the rows of spines packed tight on the wall-to-wall shelves. Sometimes Kurapika indulges himself, offers them recommendations, as if he were a real employee at a real bookshop, whose only job was to make sure customers walked away with a book they’d enjoy. It’s nice for a few minutes, but then the guilt and shame creep up Kurapika’s throat, and he starts to feel sick.

The afternoon passes slowly. No other customers come in, legitimate or illegitimate. Melody sings softly as she moves around the shop, tidying up. It’s a sweet, simple song, and Melody’s voice is beautiful. Kurapika wonders idly if she’s trying to calm him down or cheer him up. He doesn’t begrudge her for it—it’s working.

At 5 o’ clock, the bell above the shop door tinkles. Leorio steps inside, smiling broadly. He’s followed by a pale, lanky young man who is dressed like an idiot. He’s wearing at least two too many layers, one of which is a garishly pink polo shirt, and designer jeans. The stranger pushes his over-sized sunglasses up into his thick white hair. His eyes are piercing.

Kurapika feels a frisson of energy climb up his spine. He slides into _gyo_ immediately, just in time to see the stranger’s aura snap back like a rubber band and settle over his skin. It’s so smooth and calm it looks like glass.

Leorio hadn’t said anything about his new friend’s _nen_ prowess. He probably didn’t even think to use _gyo_ to look. Kurapika will scold him for that later.

“Ah, Killua, this is Kurapika and his coworker Melody. Melody, Kurapika, this is Killua. He’s in town for a few days,” Leorio says.

“Yo,” says the stranger, Killua. Kurapika just nods.

“So, are you ready to go?” Leorio asks. “Gon’s ship should be in port in a few minutes. I thought we could meet him down by the docks.”

“I just need to go over inventory with Melody in the back,” Kurapika replies. “It’ll just be a moment.” Melody nods, and follows Kurapika into the store’s back room.

“What do you think?” Kurapika whispers after Melody shuts the door. “He certainly displayed a mastery of _nen_ , but is he dangerous? Did he come here with ill intent?”

Melody slides a tongue over her front teeth. She seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I think that he…doesn’t mean to harm you, or Leorio or Gon. His heartbeat suggests that Leorio was right about him—it’s the heartbeat of someone who’s been very lonely for a very long time, and who’s both excited and terrified to make a friend. But, Kurapika…” Melody trails off, thinking.

“What is it? What’s worrying you?”

“I noticed it when Leorio opened the door. I was listening as he came down the street, but—that’s just it. I only heard _him_. The boy, Killua—he walks without making a sound.” Melody looks up at Kurapika. Her eyes are round and worried.

“ _Assassin,”_ Kurapika breathes. Anxiety starts to coil in his throat.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Melody says. “But I don’t think he’s after any of you. His heartbeat showed no intent to kill. Still…”

“I’ll be careful,” Kurapika says.

“I know.”

* * *

Kurapika’s unease only grows as he walks with Leorio and Killua down to the docks. The pair are a picture of normalcy. Leorio acts like an older cousin or a beloved former teacher, needling Killua and comically overreacting when the boy needles him back. Killua laughs easily, twists his face into smug little smiles. Kurapika expects Leorio to start ruffling the boy’s hair any moment.

But there’s still something off about the situation. Killua keeps shooting him these sharp looks over his sunglasses, like he’s daring Kurapika to confront him. And he keeps showing off. When Leorio asks him how many siblings he has, Killua counts them off on his fingers. At the tip of his index finger, he forms a tiny ball of _nen_ , and rolls it from finger to finger as he counts. It’s a difficult trick. Kurapika meets his eyes—they’re glinting with mischief. Leorio seems oblivious.

A few minutes into their walk, Leorio’s cell phone rings. He stops in the middle of a story about his terrible lab partner and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“Speak of the devil, it’s Ken,” Leorio says. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this, just a moment—Ken? Yeah, it’s Leorio, I’m in the middle of something, what do you want? Uh-huh…wait, _what?!?_ How do you mistake ten ml for a hundred? Just—okay, you know what, start from the beginning, holy hell…”

Leorio strides ahead, yelling into his phone. Kurapika is now shoulder-to-shoulder with Killua. He takes his chance.

“So,” he says, voice cold. “Leorio tells me that you’re here for business. Human resource management, was it?”

“Yup,” Killua grunts.

“I didn’t realize human resources required _nen_ expertise and mastery of assassination techniques,” Kurapika says as drily as he can manage. He watches Killua’s face intently for signs of shock or anger. There aren’t any. The boy just smirks horribly.

“Hmm. See, I didn’t realize that bookstore clerks normally kept Tech-9s strapped under their counters, or went for friendly strolls with 9mm’s in their waistbands. Learn something new every day, I suppose.” Ice runs down Kurapika’s spine. He tries hard to keep his face impassive.

“How did you know?” he asks.

The boy smiles and puts a finger to his lips. “Trade secret.”

Kurapika doesn’t like doing this, doesn’t like playing the mafia tough, but he has to know if he was being watched, and how much he’s been compromised. It’s a matter of making sure Melody and Leorio and Gon and all the others are still safe. “I have ways of finding out,” he says, his voice hard. “Ways that you won’t—“ But he doesn’t even get the threat out before Killua cuts him off with a tittering laugh.

“Chill, blondie, I was just messing with you,” he says. “I used an application of _en_ that I developed. Basically works like a metal detector. Pretty useful in my line of work.” Killua presents his palms face-up. “See? I’m being totally up-front with you. I’m not looking to cause any trouble for you or your friends.”

Kurapika wishes that Killua would take off his stupidly enormous sunglasses. They’re making it much harder to judge his intentions. “If that’s the case, why lie to Leorio?” Kurapika demands. “Why pretend to be a normal civilian?"

“I didn’t _lie_ ,” he huffs. He’s rolling his eyes, too, Kurapika can just _tell_. “Anyway, you’re one to talk. He thinks you just work in a bookstore.”

Kurapika shoves that comment out of his mind. That is not a conversation he’s willing to have with some puerile stranger in the middle of the street. He pushes on. “Yes, you did lie. You told him you worked in human resource management.”

“And I do! I manage human resources. By, y’know, eliminating them.” Killua grins. It’s all teeth. “I’m very good at it.”

Kurapika tenses. Was that a threat? For an instant, he considers plans of attack—could he get his dowsing chain around Killua’s ankles before the he realized, if he hid the chain with _in_? Would Leorio help? What about the civilians on the street, could he protect them? But in the next instant, instinct stops him from extending his ring finger. Kurapika thinks about what Melody said, what Leorio told him earlier on the phone, what he himself sees when he looks hard at Killua— _He’s just a kid. He likes messing with people._

_He’s lonely._

_He’s testing me,_ Kurapika realizes. _He’s trying to see how far he can push me before I’m scared away. Well. I won’t be._

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Kurapika says. He keeps his voice light. “Tell me, what was your name again? Leorio introduced you by your first name, but I didn’t catch your surname.”

“Killua,” he replies. “Killua Zoldyck.” Killua stares at him, waiting for the reaction, but Kurapika is prepared this time. He hums in mild interest.

“Nice to meet you, Killua Zoldyck,” he says. “I’ve heard of your family, of course, but I’ve never dealt with them personally. Are you in town for long?”

“No, not long. I just finished a job, actually. I was trying out a new technique. It’s almost undetectable. Looks just like a heart attack. _Great_ for making people paranoid.” _Another push_ , Kurapika thinks, and doesn’t budge.

Killua tries again. “I see you wear chains on your hand, Kurapika,” he says. “You know, you’re wrong about never crossing paths with my family. You did. Around four years ago. Unless, of course, there’s another Kurapika who uses chains in the mafia.”

That push works. “What do you mean?” Kurapika asks. Worry leaks into his voice. Four years ago, he killed a Spider for the first time. But how could the Zoldycks be involved?

“You really want to know?” Killua asks. Kurapika nods stiffly. “All right. So like I said, it was a few of years ago. One of the Spiders—11, I think?—was causing a ruckus, and you took him out.”

“Yes,” Kurapika says. The memory of that night keeps him awake, sometimes. The smell of metal, the crunch of bone, the numbness in his fist as he punched it into that monster of a man’s hard flesh. Uvogin’s face when he died. The blood in his teeth. The stinging pain in Kurapika’s hands as he dug the grave. How strange it was, that the blisters on his hands hurt more than his broken and then healed arm.

“Well, after you killed him, the rest of the Troupe wanted revenge. But they were all spread out, and couldn’t agree on a method. Some of them went up against the mafia—I’m sure you heard how that turned out. Huge swathes of the community, slaughtered. Another one of them, this woman named Pakunoda, she wanted something more precise. So she hired my brother to bring her your head, your hands, and your heart. Kinda old-fashioned, if you ask me. Most clients just accept video or pictures.

“Anyway. At the same time, one of the mafia bosses called in a hit on her. I dunno if they heard about the hit on you, or if they wanted revenge for all the members the rest of the Troupe killed, or whatever. Anyway, like I said, Pakunoda hired my brother, but your boss hired me. We turned it into a family competition. Pakunoda bet on the wrong dog—Milluki’s a lump, he never leaves the house. He tries to do all his jobs with like, little flying robots. Takes forever. I killed her before Piggy had even finished designing a prototype. So, that was that. You got pretty lucky, Blondie.”

Killua sounds pleased. Kurapika does not look at him. He isn’t sure what he is feeling—relief? Frustration? Whatever it is, it is dark and heavy inside him. He continues walking, but his feet feel very far away.

“What was it like when she died?” The words spill out of Kurapika’s throat unbidden. He wishes he could take them back. Killua looks a bit annoyed.

“Why? Do you wish you’d killed her yourself?”

“No!” Kurapika shouts. A woman in a jogging outfit turns to stare, then hurries away. Kurapika takes a breath. “No. I’m not…I’m not…like that. I just. Wanted to know.” He stares at the ground. He cannot bring himself to look at Killua’s face. He’s not sure what he expects—smugness, maybe, or disgust or scorn.

They walk in silence for a while. Up ahead, Leorio is still arguing with his lab partner, oblivious to what’s being discussed right behind him. It’s absurd. Kurapika wants to scream, or cry, or laugh until he can’t breathe—he doesn’t know which. But he knows he’d give anything to protect that blitheness.

Killua speaks up as they are waiting to cross Avenue H. His voice is soft. “She just seemed sad. She tried to defend herself, but when she saw she couldn’t beat me, she just sort of…let it happen, and died. A lot of times, people in the underworld are angry when their number comes up. They try to take a lot of people with them. I stop them, most of the time. It’s something my granddad taught me—when you have a job, the only person that should die is the target. Otherwise you’re a failure. So I was expecting that woman, Pakunoda, to try and take out a whole city block. But she didn’t. She was just sitting there, crying. Before I got there, I mean. I think she was mourning her friend.”

The dark feeling in Kurapika’s gut grows. It feels like anger now, or pity. He never met the woman who would have killed him twice. He doesn’t know what he should feel from the story of her death.

Another question spills out. “Do you remember them? The people that you’ve killed?”

Killua stops dead. He’s pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Kurapika meets his gaze—he looks shocked, and a bit hurt.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” he asks. “Of course I do. I remember every one.”

The moment that hangs between them is bright and still and fragile, lace-thin, like stained glass. In it there is something like sympathy. But no, that can’t be right. It can’t be enough. Feeling bad about doing evil things does not make you a good person. If that were true, Kurapika would be able to look people in the eye and sleep through the night.

Then Leorio comes bursting through, shattering the silence, and Kurapika breathes again.

“What a fucking idiot,” Leorio says, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Well, I was able to talk him through most of it, I think, so we won’t _totally_ fail this lab. Still gonna kill the son of a bitch next time I see him, though. So, you two getting to know each other?”

Kurapika glances at Killua. He’s smirking slightly, eyebrows raised. The message is clear: _I won’t tell if you don’t_. Good enough, for now.

“Yes, just making small talk,” Kurapika replies. Killua nods, and flips his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has let me revisit hxh and the two sweet, feral weirdos who somehow found each other. I normally don't post works until they're finished, but I've been noodling around with this one for so long I thought--why not?


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